Be My Castle
by practicingproductivity
Summary: Thunderstorms aren't scary. Not by themselves. Not the lightning that dazzles or the thunder that shakes the earth beneath your feet. It's what they threaten to steal from you that fills the heart with fear. Yatone Week 2016 Day 2. CW brief, non-graphic reference to domestic abuse.


**A/N:** This is my Day 2 entry for Yatone Week 2016. The theme was hurt/comfort, prompt: thunderstorms. This was in part inspired by a headcanon from noragamitexts on tumblr. And FYI in Japan, novels still get printed so that they are read vertically, reading the columns right to left. I'm pretty sure that takes up more page space than horizontal print, but I guess you can't argue with thousands of years of tradition? Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Yukine took a break from his book to look out the window beside him. He made blinders with his hands and pressed his face close to the glass so he could see with the lights still on inside. There was supposed to be a full moon that night, but it was nowhere to be seen. The clouds were swollen and dark with the promise of rain, and the gaps of sky between had shrunk considerably since the last time he'd checked. It was only a matter of time. His attention slid over to Yato, sprawled on their futon and snoring softly. Yukine's mouth eased into an affectionate smile, then he turned back to his reading.

It was a book Hiyori recommended to him. It was about boy – about Yukine's age actually – who wanted to compete in mixed martial arts. He wasn't very far into it. The main character had just convinced a famous martial artist to be his mentor through sheer determination. He did not have the funds to pay for lessons traditionally, so he was going to have to work for it. Unfortunately, all the details of their arrangement are not shared this master's other students – because it's not their business. And not that it would have necessarily mattered.

Yukine had paused to peer at the window at the point where the boy is on his way home after the master agreed to teach him. Now he was at the part where on the way home, the boy was stopped by three of the master's most promising senior disciples. He didn't recognize them at first in their street clothes. He got harassed for first ignoring them. And then they threaten to bloody him for thinking he can just waltz into their dojo and get for free what they've worked hard to earn.

Yukine's grip on the paperback tightened as the first punch was thrown. His eyes ran frantically up and down each line, rooting for the protagonist to escape this situation safely. The other students stole his cell phone and crushed it beneath their boots so the boy couldn't call for help.

Overhead, a whip-crack split the sky in two and Yukine jumped in his skin, dropping the book with a soft thud. He closed his eyes. He took deep, sharp breaths and he had one hand on his chest, willing his heart to stop racing. He heard Yato stirring. When he looked over, Yato was sitting up, meeting his gaze.

"Yukine," he said lightly.

"Mm?" Yukine reached down to pick up his book. He flipped through the pages, trying to recover his place.

Yato's strong arms wound their way around his middle. Yukine stilled, his joints locking in place. The attic was an oven and the humidity that rolled in with the storm settled on Yukine's skin in a thin film of moisture. They both had their shirts off due to the heat. Yato's bare chest was wet with perspiration and sticky against Yukine's back. Unpleasant did not do justice to describe the sensation. For a while, the only sounds were Yato's breathing and Yukine's heartbeat throbbing in his ears. They were soon joined by the first splatter of rain drops on the pavement outside.

"I'm here," said Yato, his soft voice like oil to Yukine's locked joints.

"Um," Yukine began. He took one of Yato's wrists and tried to extricate himself from the embrace.

"Whaaaat?" Yato's voice was now a shrill whine. His hold only grew tighter. "Don't you feel safe in my arms?"

"If by safe, you mean sweaty, then yes. I feel _so safe_ right now. Now please get off."

"You don't have to be embarrassed about being afraid of thunder," Yato said.

"Yato, I'm not a little kid. I'm not afraid of thunder. I was at an intense part of this book and it just startled me. You can let go of me," Yukine told him firmly.

"You don't have to hide your fears from me. I already know that you're afraid of the dark."

Yukine felt his cheeks flush. He didn't like to admit it but it was also pointless to deny.

"You're just looking for an excuse to hold me," said Yukine as he finally broke free.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Yato pouted.

"When it's this humid and gross, yes."

Yato's eyes were soft and pleading – a look he knew Yukine had difficulty resisting.

"But it's been _days_ since we really cuddled," Yato said. He reached for Yukine's hand.

Yukine let him take it. A long sigh escaped him. The irritated crease on his brow smoothed as the seconds ticked past, unflinching when a fresh boom of thunder burst overhead. The storm was on top of them. The rain had begun to wage war with Kofuku's roof, falling in an unyielding torrent of bullets, pelting the tiles above them.

"See? I'm not afraid," he said, giving Yato's hand a gentle squeeze. "It's not that I don't want to cuddle, it's just been so hot."

Yato hung his head and squeezed back. "I know," he grumbled in defeat.  
They both turned to look out the window in time to see a fork of purple lightning cleave the sky and wash the world in white for a nanosecond. When it had gone, it had taken all artificial light with it.

The light that hung overhead was dead, and so was the nightlight they kept in the corner. All was dark. A river of ice chiseled its way down Yukine's spine. It numbed his limbs. The windows had no curtains, he recalled from somewhere he couldn't name. _Can't let the neighbors see inside._ He forgot how to breathe.

"Yukine," Yato said, giving his hand a firm, almost painful squeeze.

The contact and Yato's voice ripped Yukine back to the present. He could feel Yato's eyes on him, filled with concern – even though everything before him was black.

"There's got to be a flashlight in this house somewhere," said Yato. He got up and pulled Yukine along with him, not letting go of his hand for a second.

He tripped on something and fumbled forward. Yukine nearly fell into him.

"Yato, i-it's fine. Our room is a mess, you'll just hurt yourself trying to get out." Yukine's voice was as thin as wire.

He really didn't want to leave the room. He had a fear he couldn't articulate, couldn't escape - that if they left the room they would step into a house that was no longer Kofuku's. A house filled with horrors.

"It is _not_ fine," said Yato, his words boiling with frustration. Realizing his tone, he added more softly, "It's not fine unless _you're_ really fine. ...And, no offense, but you don't seem fine."

"You're awfully perceptive for someone who can't even see my face." Yukine did his best to sound lighthearted. But his words were cracked and dry. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth when he spoke.

"Right now you don't have as good a grip on your emotions as you think you do," Yato told him matter-of-factly. "I feel just how sca—I can feel what you're feeling right now. And it's not fine."

Yukine didn't argue. After all, what was the point if Yato knew he it was all bravado anyway.

Yato began trying to lead Yukine into the hall again. Yukine planted his feet.

"You'll trip down the stairs," Yukine warned him. "And I don't want to trip with you."

Yato stopped and stood still for a bit, clearly debating something internally.

"I was saving these for the festival, but this is an emergency," Yato said abruptly.

"Saving what?" Yukine asked as he followed Yato to one end of the room. They tripped only twice.

He heard Yato flip over a cardboard box and several plastic objects were freed and rolled about on the floor. Then Yato was shoving one of them into Yukine's free hand. It was cylindrical.

"Hold this," Yato ordered him.

Yukine obeyed. There was a tug and then a small _crack_. A soft glow started to emenate from the stick in his hand.

"Glow sticks?" Yukine furrowed his brow, confusion writ plain across his face in the neon green light.

"It's better than nothing."

"I guess, but they don't exactly throw light very far." Skepticism overrode his fears for just a moment.

"Not like this, no. But I have a plan – you'll see."

Yukine didn't need light to hear the smugness in Yato's voice.

Yato cracked open his own. It was blue.

"I'm going to let go. For just a second."

Yukine swallowed. "O-okay."

Yato let go of Yukine's hand and began flipping over more boxes. He stacked the empty boxes in a triangular formation. Yato was little more than a pill of blue moving about in the dark, the stick tucked into the front of his waistband. Yukine couldn't breathe until Yato's hand found his again.

Yato dragged him over to the futon they shared, carefully tip-toeing around the sea of unlit sticks at their feet that were barely visible. Yato snatched up a bed sheet, strode back over to the box towers and threw the sheet over them. He knelt down, lifting a corner of the sheet. He gave Yukine's a tug, silently urging him to crawl underneath with him.

Yato immediately got to work clearing a place for them to sit by the tallest tower.

"Help me with these?" Yato asked, shoving a fistful of glow sticks in Yukine's direction.

Yukine began cracking them wordlessly.

Soon the small makeshift tent was painted a mish-mash of yellow, blue, green, red, and purple hues, all clashing terribly. But the light was enough to see Yato's concerned, yet hopeful expression.

"Better?" he whispered.

Breathing a little easier now, Yukine took the time to survey the walls of their fort. Their sheet was their shield from darkness, a fort carved out for just the two of them. The ice in Yukine's spine thawed some, awareness returning to his extremities.

"Yeah, a little. Thanks." A smile touched just the corner of Yukine's lips.

"I'm glad." The smile Yato gave him in return reached his ears.

Yato sidled up to Yukine, who this time didn't resist when Yato put his arms around him. Yukine leaned into the embrace, resting his head on Yato's shoulder. With each breath, Yato's scent and his warmth were there to greet him, and with each breath the tension faded just a little bit more. Yukine did feel safer in Yato's arms, even if he'd never say it out loud.

"And when these ones fade out, we can just crack new ones," said Yato, his breath tickling Yukine's hair.

Yukine hummed thoughtfully as he looked again at the borders of their fort. All these boxes appeared to be exact same size and shape, probably because they all had contained the same thing.

"Wait," Yukine said with a vague gesture. "Are all these boxes for glow sticks?"

"Not _all_ of them." Yato waved a hand dismissively, avoiding eye contact.

"Let me rephrase the question then: just how many glow sticks did you buy?" Yukine narrowed his eyes.

"..."

"Yato."

"..."

" _Yato._ "

"...Enough."

Yukine groaned, his face falling smack into his hand. Of course, he thought to himself. He should expect no less from Yato. Oh well. The glow sticks _had_ proved useful. Yukine decided he could overlook Yato's poor financial decisions just this once.


End file.
